


Soliloquy

by SoftTomParis



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftTomParis/pseuds/SoftTomParis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian walks through Cardassia, and reflects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soliloquy

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I wanted to do with this fic. It's been over a year since I've written prose, but the earlier draft of this was sitting in my notebook since April so I felt like it had to go somewhere? This fic was mostly just nostalgia/a love letter to the motherland for me more than anything. I might edit this at some point, or never, since I kind of don't want to look at this again. But, enjoy.

          The windless Cardassian heat rose above the desert, rippling the skyscrapers of the capital city. From the city’s edge, Julian blinked out sweat dripping into his eyelashes, his gaze directed at its central building. The Detapa Council’s headquarters cast a thin shadow down onto the buildings below it. Julian’s PADD chimed. He pulled it out of a khaki messenger bag.

 

                        “Good Luck  –Kelas _”_

            Julian groaned, wishing he could dig his feet into the sand, permanently ground himself where he stood. But, he moved on, past the protective gate surrounding the newly built city, stepping through scanners set up by Starfleet security. He stepped out onto sandy streets. The Cardassians had not bothered building proper sidewalks. They were built for this kind of sand, which packed into pathways like snow crunched under heavy traffic. But the grains were uneven, and there were always rocks and pebbles that found their way into Julian’s worn Starfleet issue boots and his socks and slipped between his toes.

            Here the was sand quite different than the Sudan. Omdurman streets were paved, but little sand patches at storefronts were moist like clay, and crumbled at the touch or under a boot. Further from the Nile was the edge of the Sahara, where the sand was grainy, fluid. In the three years between Deep Space Nine and Cardassia, Julian would bring his (many) nieces and nephews into the desert. They would sled down dunes on recycled parts of hovercrafts or cardboard boxes, and would watch streams of sand slip through their hands as they tried to shape castles. When climbing back up the dunes their feet would sink through the scalding sand. They would screech and giggle until they made it back up the mound or gave up their quest. The children chattered in Arabic laced with Standard, forcing Julian to reacquire his mother tongue within a matter of months. That was all between a wedding, a birthing, then a funeral, and Julian started blinking the sweat-turned-tears out of his eyes, no, now was not the time to think of that--

            --As he stood before the entrance to Council headquarters. A small tree, bent at the middle, its branches entwined in themselves, was planted in a small patch of grass just before the door. It was thin but sturdy, a symbol of strength for the new Cardassia. Just the previous month Julian pointed it out to Garak.

 

            _“Look Garak! It’s grown so quickly! Didn’t they just plant this tree three months ago?”_

_“Ah, yes we did. This particular genus, however, is meant to grow quickly. In fact, my department is looking into planting several throughout the city as a part of its Parks and Public Works project.”_

_“That’s wonderful, Garak. This tree is gorgeous…it reminds me of quite a few species in Lalbagh Botanical Gardens, in India.”_

_“India? I was unaware you had ever been to India.”_

_“I did, for a couple of weeks. After my father got out we visited his hometown, Bangalore—Bengaluru, actually. Bangalore’s the old colonial name. But the city has such beautiful gardens. Garak, you’d love it there.”_

_“Well, I’d be delighted to visit.”_

_“…Really?”_

_“Perhaps after Cardassia has functioning space ports, and maybe a few gardens of its own.”_

_A pause. “We’d have to stay with my father’s family.”_

_“I hope they’re not too afraid of Cardassians.”_

_“But I mean, if we’re going to India I might as well bring you home to Sudan.”_

_“I did miss the opportunity to meet your parents while they were on Deep Space Nine.”_

_“Uh okay, then, I guess that’s settled.”_ _Julian gestured towards the entrance. “Shall we?”_

          

        The topic didn’t come up again for another two weeks, until the two themselves were intertwined on the floor of Garak’s assigned refugee quarters. With backs propped up against a bare cement wall and cups of knock-off kanar in hand, they murmured, chuckled, and mumbled about each of their days. Julian told the story of one particularly energetic child in the Emergency Room who, despite having severe food poisoning, still had to be chased around the half hospital before being treated. Garak laughed, genuinely, for the first time since Kelas left them. He calmed into a sigh and leaned his head onto the back of Julian’s.

 

            _“So my dear, you never told me you went to India.”_

_“Hmmn? What brought this up, love?”_

_“Nothing, just curiosity I suppose.”_

            So Julian talked about his two weeks in Bengaluru. Its streets overcrowded with automobiles and hovercraft, the incessant honking, and the two-fingered whistle he needed to perfect to call a taxi. Giant brown praying mantises preyed at the foot of his bed, mosquitoes buzzed at the head. The rain came in heavy and hard, with meter-long droplets stretched out, like milky streams of metre chai poured an arms spread from pot to pot to worn plastic cup. When the weather wasn’t as rough, father and son would visit the rusted chai stall after lunches of Appam, Idli or Dosa. They visited gardens, ruins, and temples, and snuck between showings of Standard, Tamil, Malayalam, and Kannada dubs of the same film at the movies. There were also the obligatory meals to reconnect with previously estranged relatives, and one five-day wedding.

 

            _“And? Weren’t you there for three weeks? What did you do during the third?”_

_“We went to Pakistan.”_

_“Pakistan? If I am correct, isn’t that north of India? I thought your family was from South India.”_

_“Yes well, my father’s family was originally from Pakistan. You remember when I lent you_ Midnight’s Children _by Salman Rushdie, and gave you that crash course on Indian history so you could understand the references?”_

_“Ah yes, that was certainly one of the more memorable books you lent me. I had no idea before then, based on your previous recommendations, that Terran literature could be so stylish, so nuanced, so…artistic.” He gave Julian’s hand a playful squeeze._

_“Hah. Now that I actually know Kardasi, I’m surprised at how much I now enjoy all those dull, redundant novels you’ve given me over the years. A lot of Kardasi literary technique just doesn’t translate to Standard at all.”_

_“Exactly! But back to your other question, yes I do remember quite a bit of what you taught me. By any chance, would the event you are referring to be Indian Partition?”_

_“Yes, actually. Our family actually came into India and settled in Bangalore for the most part. Then, after the Caste System became less overbearing, which it didn’t for much longer than it should have, they started marrying into local communities. We went up to Pakistan and visited the cities my ancestors were originally from. It was…interesting, to say the least?”_

_“How so?”_

Julian wasn’t sure how to begin, so he chose to start with the more tame memories. Karachi was a powerful, bustling capital. Hints of architecture in every religion and culture that passed through the province of Sindh presented themselves at every corner. As usual, Richard Bashir was not interested in the larger tourist attractions of the city. He dragged Julian into every tea and street food stand, haggling and arguing with store owners in his broken Sindhi. They supposedly found the street their ancestors had once lived in British India, but under an elaborate complex of high-rise condominiums. They stood before the block, silently.

            Then came the more difficult, the more confusing memories to recount. The two walked down the rail tracks that once connected Pakistan to Gujurat, India. They visited museums of refugee camps, learning about the numbers, the stories, the ghost trains. Richard Bashir told his own family’s stories, the ones seared into his memory but as a young man refused to tell his child. Bandits, mass murders, religious riots. A family legacy drenched in blood.

 

                        _“I don’t know, Garak, I went on that trip expecting some answers on what my life, my values even meant after the War. The Federation just seemed so, so pointless to me at the time. Why did I bother risking my life for the values of some political organization that turned its back on those values when convenient? I guess I let my Father drag me from the bottom to the top of the South Asian continent because I wanted to see if there was any beauty, any meaning left in Earth, the Federation...I don’t know.”_

_“My proud, idealistic Julian having second thoughts about his beloved Federation? Had I not been in that War alongside you, I don’t think I’d be able to imagine such a thing. It also seems that you did not find the answers you were looking for…unless I am mistaken?”_

_“Not the answers I wanted. I guess I just finally realized that humans are no better than anyone else. But, after knowing that I also realized that everyone, regardless of race, gender, sex species, really does deserve a fair chance at life. And then I knew that I didn’t believe in this because of ‘Federation indoctrination’ or whatever you liked to call it back in the day, but because it’s just a part of who I am. So, when it came time to volunteer for the mission on Cardassia, it was much easier to make my decision.”_

_Garak ran a hand through a lock of Julian’s hair, “And I’m glad you made one, my dear.”_

x-x-x

 

            The elevator had arrived later than usual, and seemed to take its sweet time going up. Garak’s office was on the 29th floor of a 30-story building, but this knowledge didn’t do anything to relax Julian’s shaking, clammy palms, as one rested on top of his messenger bag

            Finally, the doors opened. Julian sprinted down to the opposite end of hall, straight into the smallest office.

 

                        “Doctor, what a surprise! You didn’t mention you’d be stopping by today.” Julian stared straight into Garak’s eyes, panting. “My dear, is there something wrong?”

            “Garak, after my tour finished remember you asked me if I’d consider staying? On Cardassia? Well, my answer is yes, and,” he pulled out a box from the messenger bag, and with still shaky hands opened it to reveal a betrothal necklace, “will you marry me?”

 

 


End file.
